Chapter 3

She made her signature creamy chicken soup, steaming hot and warming me from the inside out. After I finished my bowl, she quietly took it away and filled it up again.

"Make sure you're full before we talk."

I ended up eating three bowls of soup before I finally opened my mouth.

I told her everything. I told her how I first realized something was wrong, how I started planning for the divorce, what I did during those three days when Dustin went to pick up Giselle, what he said when he came back, and how he didn't even bother to chase after me when I walked out with my suitcase.

After hearing me out, she just said one thing.

"Scumbag."

I burst out laughing.

She cracked up too.

"Stay as long as you want," she said. "I've been bored out of my mind living alone. Now you can keep me company while we binge-watch shows."

That night, we curled up on the couch, watched three movies, snacked until 2 a.m., and laughed so hard our cheeks hurt.

I hadn't laughed like that in ages.

The next day, I handed in my resignation at work.

My coworkers were all shocked, asking why I was leaving out of the blue. I just told them I had some things going on at home that needed my attention.

My boss tried to convince me to stay, saying I could take a long break if I wanted. I told him thanks, but I'd rather just leave.

After finishing all the paperwork, I stood outside the company building, looking at the office tower where I'd spent the past six years.

I started here right after college. Three years ago, I married Dustin, and I never changed jobs.

Every day, I'd clock in at 8:30 a.m., clock out at 6 p.m., sometimes work overtime, sometimes slack off. Life was just one long, uneventful routine.

But now, I was leaving.

It wasn't about running away. It was about starting over.

I found a coffee shop nearby, sat down, pulled out my phone, and started scrolling through job listings.

After about half an hour, I spotted a job that seemed like a perfect fit. I sent in my resume, and less than ten minutes later, I got a reply. They wanted me to come in for an interview tomorrow.

That was insanely fast.

I replied with “Okay,” then stared at the message for a moment, and suddenly felt like it wasn’t as hard as I’d thought.

Fifteen days later, Dustin called me.

"Can we see each other?"

"Okay."

We met at the coffee shop we used to go to together. When I arrived, he was already there, with two cups of coffee in front of him. His Americano and my latte.

I sat down and looked at the latte.

"I remember you always loved this."

"Thanks," I replied, but I didn't touch it.

He looked at me, his eyes full of emotions I couldn't quite read.

"Gigi's leaving," he said.

I froze for a second.

"She just came back for a few days to take care of some things, and now she's gone."

"Oh," I said.

"I didn't cheat on you," he said.

"I know."

"Then why..." he asked.

"Dustin," I cut him off. "Can I ask you something?"

He held my gaze.

"If I hadn't seen her update that day, would you have told me you went to pick her up?"

He was silent.

"If I'd asked where you'd been these past few days, would you have told me the truth?"

He stayed silent.

I stood up.

"You didn't cheat," I said. "You just didn't care. You thought you didn't owe me an explanation, that my feelings didn't matter, that I'd always be here waiting for you."

"But not anymore."

I walked out of the coffee shop, the sunlight so harsh I could barely keep my eyes open.

This time, he still didn't come after me.

On the thirtieth day, when the divorce waiting period was finally over, we met at City Hall.

When I got there, he was already standing by the door, wearing the gray coat I'd bought him and holding the divorce papers. He nodded at me when he saw me.

I walked over and said, "Let's go."

We went inside, waited in line, filled out the forms, and handed over our documents. The clerk, a middle-aged woman, glanced at us and asked, "Are you sure about this?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," I replied.

"Yeah," he echoed.

She stamped the documents and slid two divorce papers across the desk, one for each of us.

"That's it."

I took the divorce certificate and flipped it open. The photo was still the same one from when we registered our marriage, sitting side by side, smiling a little awkwardly.

Now, right next to the photo, there was a stamp: "Divorced."

We walked out of City Hall and stood by the door.

The March breeze was a little cold, but the sunlight felt warm on my skin.

He looked at me, opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something.

"No need," I cut him off. "This is it."

He nodded, then turned and walked away.

I stood there, watching him disappear into the crowd.

Then I took out my phone and called my mom.

"Mom, the divorce is final."

She was quiet for a couple seconds, then asked, "What do you want for lunch? I'll cook for you."

I told her I wanted steak.

"Alright, I'll go buy the meat. Just come home when you're ready," she said.

After hanging up, I stood there for a moment, and suddenly, I found myself smiling.

The sunlight felt warm on my skin.

In my first month after the divorce, I found a new job.

It was a startup doing brand management, a team of just over a dozen, most of them not even thirty yet.

My new boss, Mark Rylen, was in his early thirties. He talked fast, but his mind was even quicker.